


and it's worth it, it's divine

by mouthymandalorian



Series: cherry wine [1]
Category: The Great Wall (2017)
Genre: Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Exhibitionism-ish, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Huddling For Warmth, Light Angst, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouthymandalorian/pseuds/mouthymandalorian
Summary: pero tovar is brash, rude, and hates you. allegedly.one day, you get yourself lost in the woods, and the opposite of a knight-in-shining armor comes to your rescue. and oh no, it’s freezing! how ever will you stay warm?fem reader :)
Relationships: Pero Tovar/Reader, Pero Tovar/You
Series: cherry wine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200734
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	and it's worth it, it's divine

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally filth, don't @ me, i love this absolutely feral demon of a man.

Pero Tovar had met no one as unpleasant as himself until you came along. 

Not that you were actually _unpleasant_ in any sense of the word. You were _not_. You were lovely and accommodating and funny and kind, and all of those facts did not escape him. 

He just hated that he felt like he needed to protect you. He hated that he wanted to listen to you when you spoke. And he _really hated_ that you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. 

So he kept his distance. The first time you spoke to him, he’d made sure to be as mean as everyone told you he was. You’d offered him something to eat.

“I don’t need anything from you, _princesa_ ,” he’d spat, making sure you heard the mocking tone.

He’d turned to William, “Why’d we pick up another stray, huh, _amigo_?” 

In full earshot of you. On purpose. 

Heat rushed to your ears and cheeks, and you turned around, leaving the bowl of berries you’d foraged on the rock next to him. You’d made friends with everyone else in the group. Tovar would not be so easy. And William had let slip once that he liked berries. 

They brought you on for your survival expertise. You were a stray, you supposed, but you’d also been surviving on your own for a long time. You weren’t completely useless. 

“You don’t have to do that,” William had said to Tovar, frowning. “You could just say thank you.”

Tovar had only rolled his eyes and ignored the ache of guilt in his chest that accompanied the sad, dismayed look on your face.

It’s winter soon. The days grow colder and darker, and it’s more important for you to finish your tasks before the sun sets. This morning, you creep around camp, trying to avoid waking anyone up. The snores are so loud you’re always surprised anyone gets any sleep at all. 

Tovar is standing guard. 

Great.

It’s ridiculous of you to want this bloodhound of a man to like you. He doesn’t like anyone, apparently, except William. William said it’s because he’s seen so much in his life, but you don’t see the rest of the men being mean to you for no reason. Creepy, sure, but you’re good enough with a dagger that it never gets to be an issue. 

You take a deep breath, inhaling the crisp fall air, and walk past him. He ignores you. You shake your head and head off into the morning light. 

Tovar watches you move down the path and admires the lovely sway of your hips. Then he curses himself for it.

* * *

Tovar notices you’re late coming back before anyone else does. He’s memorized your routine. You leave at dawn, and you return just past midday. The sun is much lower in the sky than it is when you usually return. He gets antsy, but says nothing until the day starts to turn to night. 

“William, she’s not back,” he tells his friend.   
“Who?” William asks.  
“What do you mean ‘who’? The only woman here, you idiot,” Tovar spits.

William raises his eyebrows. 

“I’m sure she’s just running late,” he says.  
“She doesn’t run late, _amigo_ ,” Tovar says. William detects a hint of concern and he can’t stop the amused smile forming on his face. Tovar responds with a ferocious growl.

“I’m going to look for her,” Tovar says.  
“So that’s why you’re such a bastard to her?” William asks.  
“What do you mean?” Tovar asks, irritated.   
“You want to fuck her!,” his friend laughs. Tovar puts his hand on his axe.   
“You are truly terrible with women,” William says, not afraid of his friend for even a second.

Tovar ignores him and sets off to find you. It’s practical. You’re the hunter and the forager, and they’ll starve to death without you. 

He finds you in a dusky twilit copse, backed against a tree by an angry mountain lion.

“ _Princesa_!” Tovar says, half panicked and half furious.   
“Help!” you yell. You wandered into her area on accident, looking for those stupid berries Tovar likes. 

Tovar pulls out an axe and bangs it on his shield to catch the big cat’s attention.

“Don’t hurt it!” you plead. It’s a silly thing to say because you kill animals for food and pelts all the time, but you’re the one who encroached on the beast’s territory.

“ _Princesa_ , that thing is about to eat the both of us, I’m killing it,” Tovar shouts, swinging the axe at the panther who swipes angrily at him. You’re not a fighter and the panther had snapped your wooden bow in half, so all you can do is watch. Tovar takes a broad stide and steps quickly in front of you, blocking you from the animal with his broad body. 

Tovar is not a skilled fighter, but he is brutal. He takes down the big cat with a ferocity that matches the panther’s own need for survival. It is a a marvelous thing to behold, the feral violence he possesses, but you have to look away when he strikes the killing blow. 

He wipes the blood from his long, scruffy beard and pushes the hair out of his eyes. You lean against the tree, trying to calm your heart.

“What are you doing out here, princesa?” he asks. You’re grateful for his help, but the nickname irks you.

“Stop calling me that. And I was foraging. I finished hunting early and wanted to find the berries that you…” you trail off, heat rushing to your ears. Tovar looks at you and knits his brow. 

“...And you lost track of time?” he asks. You’re overwhelmed at the softness of his voice. 

Another pang of guilt forms in Tovar’s gut. So this was his fault, then.  
  
“Yes. Thank you for coming. Did William send you?”   
“I came on my own.”  
“Why?” you ask, unable to hide your surprise. He doesn’t answer; just stares at you in that brooding, menacing way. You clear your throat.

“Anyway, should we head back?”  
“No,” Tovar says, “It’s too dark now. We’ll get lost. You know that.”

You do know that, but you don’t know if you want to be caught out in the woods with him. Alone. Well, you do and you don’t.

“Shit,” you say, shivering, “I don’t even have my cloak.”   
“I do,” he says.   
“You have my—”   
“Yes.”  
“This is a good enough place to sleep for the night, I suppose,” you say, looking around for firewood.   
“Sit. I’ll start a fire, prin-” he stops himself, “I’ll start a fire.”

He thrusts your cloak at you, and you wrap it around yourself. You observe him as he moves around the clearing gathering firewood.

“Why are you being nice to me?” you ask. He ignores your question.

Tovar ignores it because he can’t answer that. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s being nice to you, and he definitely doesn’t want to admit he’s been a bastard to you. 

“Tovar?”   
“Pero,” he says, “My name is Pero.”  
“Pero.”

* * *

The fire is warm, but your teeth chatter and your breath comes out in great plumes in front of you. You’ll never sleep like this. 

“Come here,” Tovar says.   
“Why?”  
“Come here,” he says again, irritated, “Sit in front of me.”  
“Are you—”  
“Yes, girl, I’m serious. We’ll both freeze to death if you don’t.” 

Well, at least it’s not _princesa_.

You slide between two muscular legs and rest your back against his armored chest, angling your hips away from his own, trying to make the situation less awkward. Tovar, however, makes an impatient noise, places his hands on your hips, and moves you roughly backward, lining you up flush with his body. 

“No use in letting the cold between us, girl,” he says. His warm breath hits your ear and you try to hold in your shudder. If he notices, he says nothing. His arms wrap around you, gentler than you expect, but strong. Safe. You sit in silence for a while, staring into the fire. 

Tovar tries not to enjoy this too much. He tries not to think about how you smell like berries and cedar wood. He tries not to think about cupping your tits and running his fingers over your nipples. He tries not to think of spreading your legs apart and rubbing your clit until you’re a squirming mess. He tries not to think of kissing your neck and telling you that you’re pretty and soft and kind and all the things you deserve to be told.

He tries.

The results of this failed effort are evident on your back. You try to ignore it. It’s a physical response, you reason. This man hates you, he’s just trying to keep you alive for his own good. Any man would have the same response to a woman pressed up against him.

I came on my own, he’d said. 

“Why do you call me ‘princesa’ and ‘girl’?” you ask. You want to know what you did to deserve his ire. 

“What else should I call you?” he says. His voice is unusually gentle. He’s asking a sincere question, not mocking you. 

“My name, I suppose,” you say. To your confusion, he leans forward and puts his chin on your shoulder and moves his scratchy beard against your neck.

Nuzzling you.

“It is a lovely name,” he says. Your breath hitches at his compliment and the unexpected contact. You grab the hands he has wrapped around your waist and moves them to your thighs. You want him touch more. Wherever he wants.

“Tovar—”  
“Pero,” he corrects you.  
“Pero,” you murmur, “are you all right?”   
“Why wouldn’t I be?”  
“You’re never this nice to me,” you point out.  
“Maybe I want to be nice to you now, _princesa_. Maybe I’ve been a fool,” he purrs. The throaty rasp and the gentler use of the nickname you’d hated brings slickness between your legs.

Tovar can’t stop himself, not when you’re this close. This willing and pliant. He wants to see how close he can get between your legs tonight, and the next night, and the next; forever, because you drive him out of his mind. 

“Why did you come out here to get those berries?” he asks, and his lips press against your neck; you moan a little. His beard tickles you, but his lips are so plush and warm. He moves his hands over your belly, up to your breasts, massaging them.

“You like them,” you gasp, his lips working his way over the back of your neck. He licks an earlobe and you shiver. 

“I like these,” he says, squeezing your breasts.  
“Mmm.”  
“Are you still cold, àngel?” he asks.   
“Yes,” you whisper.   
“Can I warm you?”  
“Please,” you mewl. 

You’ve been wet for him since he saved you from the panther. When he pulled you close to him, against his hard cock, you’d positively gushed for him. When he moves his hands into your trousers, he hisses at the warmth and slickness. He mutters something in Spanish that you can’t understand, but it makes you grind your hips into him. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he says, but you want no such thing. Instead, you turn your head to the side and catch his soft mouth in a smoldering kiss. Tovar kisses like he fights; passionate, brutal, crushing. 

He moves his fingers over your clit in lazy, leisurely circles; his tongue licks into your mouth and dances with yours. It’s obscene, the noises the two of you are making. The noise of your wet cunt mixed with the moans and gasps and sighs coming from your joined lips.

“In me,” you say, and Tovar groans, sliding a thick finger into your aching pussy, and you cry out from the sensation. It’s been a long while since anyone’s fingers but your own have been there.

“So tight, _princesa_ ,” he hisses into your ear and you lift your hips again, bucking into his fingers. “You like when I talk, hm?” 

You nod furiously. His raspy voice is what you think about when you touch yourself at night in the privacy of your tent.

“I’ve dreamt about this, _princesa_ , I’ve dreamt about it since the day we met. I think about it when I have my cock in my hand. I think about you and your tits and your pussy”—Tovar slips a second finger in, and your moan is loud enough to scare off a slumbering bird from a nearby nest — “I can see sometimes, you know, those tight trousers you wear? I can see it. Makes me want to bend you over in the middle of camp and fuck you in front of everyone, show everyone you’re mine.”

You whine at this; the thought of him taking you in front of everyone, of claiming you, lights something afire in your cunt. 

“She likes that?” he asks, slipping a third finger in, stretching you further. “She wants to take my hard cock in front of everyone?”

You mewl into his mouth, unable to stop yourself. He moves his fingers faster. You move your hand to your breast to play with your own nipples, needing more, but Tovar slaps you away. You whimper in frustration, but he sticks his other hand down your shirt and pinches your nipple, hard. He bites down on your neck and sucks.

“Oh, God,” you cry, “Pero, please…”

You don’t know what you’re begging for, but Tovar seems to. 

“Why don’t I make you come in front of everyone, too, hm? Would you want that, _princesa_? Would you want me to fuck you with my tongue with your legs spread open so everyone kn—”

It’s too _much_ ; it sends you over a ledge you didn’t know you were on, and you cry his name over and over, hips bucking into the air. He works you through it, still fucking you with his fingers, still whispering filthy things into your ear, and once you’ve come down, you find him pressing soft, sweet kisses to your sweaty forehead. 

“ _Àngel_ ,” he whispers, “come back.”

You smile lazily at him, and he smiles back, the first time you’ve ever seen him do so. It’s a beautiful thing, all the age on his face wiped away, looking for all the world like a giddy boy, and you can’t resist kissing him. 

“Are you warm now, _àngel_?” he asks, stroking your hair.

“Mmhmm,” you say sleepily, but then you start to fret, “What about you? I should—”

“Next time. Rest,” he says. He wiggles his arm out of your pants and pulls your cloak around you. For all his talk, he doesn’t want anyone to see you but him. Then he sticks his fingers in his mouth, tasting you, holding back a groan. He is _not_ done with you.

“Next time?” you confirm.  
“Next time,” he says. 

You fall asleep, and he licks his fingers clean of you.


End file.
